


In The Timing

by VillainousShakespeare



Series: In The Timing [1]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Car Sex, Dom Tom Hiddleston, F/M, Fingering, Flirting, Fluff, Kissing, Mutual Pining, Older Woman/Younger Man, Puzzles, Sex, Smut, but just 8 years, older Tom Hiddleston, young actor Tom Hiddleston
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24190072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillainousShakespeare/pseuds/VillainousShakespeare
Summary: After a horrible first date, you end up at a pub filled with University students. You are feeling rather old and sorry for yourself, until a blond haired Adonis strikes up a conversation with you. Obviously he is too young for you, but what could a little flirting hurt?
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston/Original Female Character(s), Tom Hiddleston/Reader
Series: In The Timing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2133081
Comments: 110
Kudos: 158





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> My goal is to do this in 4 chapters, but we shall see as I do tend to get carried away.

If you had been on worse first date you certainly could not remember it. Perhaps there had been a break up or two to rival the fiasco of the evening, and some truly dull evenings with one ex that had made you want to rip out your hair and use it as a rope ladder to escape, but that had been after time had worn down the relationship to its worst elements. Tonight had been something all together different - a world class failure to connect from the beginning.

The only saving factor was that you had not had high hopes for the evening to begin with. It had been ages since your last foray into dating, and the intervening time had led your friends, all of whom seemed to be happily coupled at the moment, to despair for you. It was inevitable that they would begin to play matchmaker. For a considerable amount of time you had fended off their efforts, preferring to be on your own rather than settle for a mediocre set up with someone you lacked the least bit of spark with, but even you had limits to how long you could hold out. 

And so, when a musician regular at the dive where your friend Li bartended began trying to convince you to give him a shot, the combination of his persistence and your friend's machinations finally wore you down. You liked musicians as a rule, or any type of performers really. He was nice, if not overly stimulating when you talked, and really, what else did you have to do with your Saturday night? After three months, you finally broke down and agreed to meet him for drinks at the venue where he hosted open mic night, hoping that seeing him in his element playing guitar might make him seem more attractive.

It had helped, a bit. It would have been better if he didn't play the kind of country music that made you wish to turn the station, but he was talented enough. Also helpful were the never ending stream of margaritas and occasional accompanying tequila shots that had been delivered to your table. By the time the first set ended and he had asked you to come outside with him for a smoke break you were feeling mellow enough to smile and go along. You even leaned in a bit when he kissed you. It was nice, even if the taste of tobacco was not your ideal, and if it didn't set your toes curling, well, at least it didn't make you want to gargle with mouthwash. You had had worse.

"So," he said with a bit of a smile as he looked down on you, "I'm glad we finally did this."

"Yeah," you tried to make yourself sound enthusiastic.

"Just so we're on the same page," he said, grinning as he ran his hand down your back to land on your rear, making you feel a touch uncomfortable, "I'm not really in a position to have a girlfriend right now."

"What?" you blinked, wondering if you had heard him correctly.

"Well, with the gig every weekend, and my day job... plus, you know, I'm not really over my ex... so I don't want to get into anything heavy right now."

"You've been pursuing me for three months," you said, thinking the tequila must have mixed up your brain a bit.

"Sure, I mean, you're hot," he squeezed your back side as he leered down at you. "And I am so glad you finally said yes. I have one more set to do, but then you know... my apartment isn't far from here. I thought we could go back and hang. After all, you shouldn't be trying to make your way home after drinking so much, and we can have some fun."

"But you just said..."

"That I don't want a girlfriend, right. Don't be so upset, babe."

"I never said I wanted to be your girlfriend."

"Then what's the big deal?"

"Well, it would be nice if the date didn't start with 'there's no way it's ever going anywhere, but let's hook up.'"

"Do you want me to lie to you?"

"That's not what I meant!" you insisted, trying to clear your head.

"Look, I'm just looking for a good time, no reason to get all clingy," he stepped back from you, hands raised in front of himself.

"I am not getting _clinginy_ ," you heard your voice rising. 

"Babe, chill," he looked around, as though afraid you were making a scene.

"I didn't even want to go out with you to begin with," you blurted out, your internal filter apparently having abandoned you.

"Sure, whatever you need to tell yourself," he replied condescendingly. "So, you coming back to mine or not?"

Shaking your head in disbelief, you turned on your heel and walked away, ignoring him calling your name as you went. It was three blocks later before you realized that you were probably a little too drunk to take the metro home at the moment, and you should probably sober up a bit before attempting the hour long commute. Changing your direction, you walked to Li's bar where this whole farce had begun, determined to tell her all about the horror she had subjected you to.

As it turned out, she was not working. The bear-like, bearded Alan chuckled at you, you were a regular after all, and wordlessly put a glass of water down in front of you before going over to tend to other customers. Sipping the cool drink, you did a quick scan around the bar. You didn't usually come in on Saturdays - your friend didn't work that night (as you now remembered) and it was more of a college scene than on your normal Thursdays. A gaggle of girls was flirting up Alan to his evident aggravation, a mixed group was crowded around the pool table, and in one corner booth a group of guys sat arguing loudly in obviously tipsy voices, while regularly glancing over to the bar to see if any of the aforementioned girls might give up on the bartender and pay them some notice. You felt every one of your thirty years in that moment.

Sighing, you went back to your water and pulled the crossword puzzle out of your purse. You usually saved them to do on the train, but you needed something now to keep yourself occupied while you waited for the worst of your buzz to wear off. 

"Phaedra," a voice like rich caramel poring slowly over chocolate said from over your left shoulder some time later.

Startled out of your haze, you jumped on your stool and turned to see an absolute vision standing slightly behind you. At least six feet tall, probably taller, his unruly mop of golden curls sat tousled atop a face of angelic beauty, if an angle could look so smug and cocky. Deep blue eyes held a twinkle that lit up from the inside, fine cheek bones stood out in stark relief beneath fair skin, and his mouth tilted upwards in a smirk that hinted at mischief you were certain would be deadly to your peace of mind.

"Sorry," he said, not sounding it at all. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"No, it's okay," your mouth made words as you stared at the man... boy... somewhere between the two. He was clearly still young, early twenties at a guess, but exuded the confidence of someone already well established in the world. "What did you say?"

"Number sixteen across," he leaned into your space as he pointed to your puzzle, and you were treated to a delicious scent of some mysterious cologne, applied with a light touch but definitely noticeable. You resisted the urge to bury your face in his shoulder and inhale again. "Wife of Theseus. The answer is Phaedra."

You blinked multiple times before you realized that he had been reading over your shoulder and was supplying the answer to one of the questions that had been stumping you. Turning back to the paper, you tried to make your mind focus as you looked at the squares.

"It doesn't fit," you said, as you lightly traced out the letters with your pen.

"You're spelling it wrong," the smug note in his voice was more than obvious now, and you had the feeling he could be quite a bit to handle in more ways than the obvious. "It's P-h-a- _e_ -d-r-a."

"Oh, right," you blushed as you filled in the letters, seeing that he was, of course, correct. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," he smiled full force at you and you felt it from your throat all the way down to your toenails. "I've got to say, not many people bring a Times crossword with them to the pub. It's quite impressive."

"Yeah, it's okay, you can say pathetic," you told him, grimacing at how you must appear.

"Not at all," he smiled, pulling over the stool next to you and folding his long body onto it. Sweet lord, he was still able to reach the ground while your feet swung back and forth like a toddler! "I like a lady who can tackle a good puzzle, particularly the weekend editions!"

"No point in doing the earlier ones," you mumbled, retreating to a stock complaint of yours, "they're too easy."

"My feelings exactly," he beamed, once more making you flutter inside, "there's no fun if there's no challenge!"

"What can I get for you?" Alan asked the Adonis beside you.

"Another pint, thanks," he answered, putting his empty glass and the bar, "and another for the lady as well. What is that, g&t?"

"Water," Alan said repressively, glaring at him protectively. "Another, hon?"

"Water?" he asked, "You sure you don't want anything else, something stronger, maybe?"

You certainly did want something stronger, a rogue thought flew through your mind, but not a cocktail. No, the long drink you wanted was sitting just a hair too close to you so that his leg rested against yours beneath the bar. Even as you scolded yourself for drooling at the cocky young peacock, you couldn't help pressing your thigh against his just slightly, enjoying the firm muscle you could feel through his jeans.

"Just water," you said at last, deciding that you needed to keep your wits about you before you made a fool of yourself. Yes, he was pretty, but he was way too young!

"Suit yourself," he shrugged agreeably, turning back to your crossword. "Now, what else do you need me to help you with?"

Well, you certainly weren't going to answer _that_ aloud, despite all the suggestions your lust filled brain was shouting at you. You had _some_ dignity left after all. Instead you just gestured to the paper, letting him take his pick of empty squares.

"I'm usually better at these," you blurted out, not wanting him to think you were an idiot for failing so miserably at the clues. "I think I might be just a little bit drunk."

"From water?" he asked, raising a speaking eyebrow.

"Water now," you corrected, "tequila earlier. Lots of it."

"Ah, I see. Friends desert you?" 

The sympathy in his voice was worse than the teasing had been by far. You were appalled at how anxious you were that this perfect stranger not think you were so socially inept.

"No, I deserted them," you rushed to tell him, embarrassing yourself.

"Now that I understand. I did the same myself," with a wave of his stupidly long fingers he indicated the group you had noticed earlier in the booth that had now, at last, merged with the girls who had been at the bar. Hilarity was apparently ensuing, as the inevitable drunk connections were being made. One or two of the women, you noticed, were shooting not so subtle glares in your direction as he raised his pint glass in their direction but made no move to rejoin them.

"Huh, looks like a fun bunch to me," you remarked, thinking how old and tired you seemed by comparison to the perky young girls twittering away at his former table.

"Looks can be deceiving," he said with wry bark of laughter. "I would use the word tedious myself."

"Really? Not one for drunken debauchery, are we?"

Now where had _that_ come from?

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," his eyes smiled into yours with a promise that made your mouth go dry. "I'm all for a good bit of debauchery. I just prefer it to be with someone of a bit more substance than any of those birds. So, why'd you ditch your mates?"

Turning his back on his friends, he once again focused his piercingly blue gaze on you, making you squirm and fly all at once. When he looked at you like that it was as though you were the only person alive, the only thing that could possibly interest him. It was seductive and frightening in equal measure.

"Mate, singular," you corrected him, twirling the straw around in your glass and averting your gaze. "And not really that, even."

"Ah, date then?" he guessed, eyes crinkling. "Didn't go very well?"

"If it did, would I be here alone?" you sighed.

"Well, in that case I'm glad the poor fellow - it was a fellow, wasn't it? - I am glad he bombed. Saved me from a boring night. So what went wrong? Cheap bastard? No table manners? Didn't know his Greek mythology?"

You blinked again until he smiled at your puzzle and you belated realized his joke. What was it about this guy that seemed to be making your brain stop working? Well, apart from his striking good looks and quick wit, that was.

"Come on, spill," he wheedled, nudging you with his elbow. "After all, I did just buy you that very expensive water. You owe me _something_ for that!"

"Oh all right," you rolled your eyes as he gave a "ehehe" at his own joke. "It was a first date, if you must know. The guy has been after me for months -"

"Makes sense," he interjected, causing you to pull a face until he gestured for you to continue.

"So he just kept bugging me to give him a shot, and my friend Li, who works here but not on Saturdays thought it would be a good idea," as you babbled you belatedly realized that yes, you were a bit drunker than you had thought. "Anyway, I finally agreed and met him tonight."

"I hope he was suitably appreciative. You look smashing."

"My shoe is broken, and my hair is frizzy," you replied, wondering why on earth you would point out your deficiencies to someone who had most likely never had a bad hair day in his life. "As I was saying..." you continued before he could offer the automatic gentlemanly rebuttal, "I met him tonight, and it was going fine."

"Fine. A word to wound the heart of any suitor, but go on."

"It was going fine," you glared at him, wondering if you were ever going to be able to finish your story and why you had started it in the first place. "But then he kissed me, and he totally changed. Started talking about how he wasn't looking for a relationship. You know, we could still hook up - he lived right around the corner - but to stop being so clingy. So I left."

"Wow," he stared at you for a moment, shaking his head. "What an absolute wanker. What do you think that was all about?"

"I don't know," you swallowed, suddenly feeling incredibly sorry for yourself but wanting to make light of it. "I guess I must just be a really bad kisser."

"Huh," his blue eyes locked on yours as he leaned a bit closer to you on his stool. "Maybe I should be the judge of that."

His hand cupped the side of your face and held for a moment, giving you time to pull away if you were so inclined. Honestly, you didn't think you would have been able to move away if the bar had burst into flames. The draw from his fathomless eyes was too strong to admit any force to deny it. With a wicked grin he closed the distance and took you in a kiss that made all coherent thought vanish from your head. Sweet at first, he slid his slightly parted lips against yours slowly, before pulling teasingly apart just a breath and then running his tongue against the seam of your lips. You parted them for him and he lapped into your mouth, deepening the kiss while he explored your depths. All restraint left your body as you felt the electricity surge through you, and you allowed your tongue to dance with his, amazed that a kiss could arouse you to such an extent. He nipped at your lower lip, laughing as you gasped, and buried his hand in the hair at the back of your head, holding you still while he completely took control. Willingly you surrendered to him, palm coming up to rest on his surprisingly muscled chest. When he finally pulled away, leaving tiny kisses along your jaw as he went, you were breathless and flushed with desire.

"That bloke," he said in a husky voice, "was an absolute ass."

You stared at him, having forgotten for a moment the date, the conversation, and certainly the previous kiss that was to this one as a single match was to a bonfire. He smiled in satisfaction and slid his hand through your hair, causing you to shiver as he hit the sensitive nape of your neck.

"If you say so," you said at last, struggling to find words.

"I do. You kiss divinely."

"You're not so bad yourself," you laughed, in the understatement of the year.

"Hey Tom," a loud voice intruded harshly into the private space between the two of you. "We're going back to Cheryl's. You want to come?"

A flash of annoyance passed across his - _Tom's -_ face as he turned to look at his snickering friends. For your part, you wished that the floor would open up and swallow you as the pack of students whispered to each other while openly appraising you. Not that you could blame them, your kiss hadn't exactly been subtle.

"Nah, go on without me," Tom smiled at his friends. "I think I'm going to stay for a bit."

"Aw, come on," one of the girls pouted, looking at you as though she was fantasizing about your grisly death. "It's gonna be fun! We're thinking of playing strip poker!"

"Sorry, not in the mood," he said heartlessly, draping his arm speakingly over your shoulder. "Have fun though, I'll catch up with you all Monday."

"Have fun yourself, man," one of the guys smirked, looking you over in a way that made you even more squirmy. "Let's go."

"Sorry about them," Tom turned back to you as soon as the door shut behind them. "They're okay guys, but they can be a bit obtuse when they've been drinking."

"Friends from Uni?" you asked, attempting to remind yourself of his age.

"College, actually," he smiled. "I graduated Uni last semester. Back home in London and starting drama school in a week, but thought I'd catch up with some old mates first."

"Drama school?" you asked, smiling at the idea.

"RADA," he told you proudly. "I've always wanted to be an actor, though no one knew it until recently."

"And Uni was..." you pursed your lips and took in his expensive blue button down and air of polish. "Oxford?"

"Oh!" he mimed being shot in the heart and falling off of his bar stool. "You wound me! Oxford!"

"No?" you laughed, thinking he had chosen his field well at least.

"I'm a Cambridge man, I'll thank you very much," he puffed his chest out proudly. "Double firsts in Classics."

"Ah, hence the Phaedra," you chuckled.

"Would you like me to recite it to you in the original Greek?" he asked.

"Sure!" you answered, and watched as his face fell comically.

"Oh. Well, I didn't expect you to actually say yes," he mumbled, blushing delightfully. 

"So don't know ancient Greek," you made your voice drip with disappointment. 

"I do!" he insisted. "Just not all of Phaedra. I _can_ do Electra though! I performed the part of Orestes last year."

"In ancient Greek?" you shook your head in disbelief.

"It sounds much more authentic that way," he said, as though it was a thing everyone could do.

"Are you even real?" you heard yourself asking as you gawked at him. 

"You tell me," he grinned. "Does this feel real?"

And then he was kissing you again and once more you existed in a world that was only feeling.

"Do you want to get out of here?" you asked when you finally came up for air, noting the way that Alan was looking at you.

"I thought you'd never ask," he smiled, standing up with flattering speed. "Let me just settle up."

As Tom paid Alan you made a quick dash to the ladies, checking your face and wondering what this handsome young man saw in you. Who cared, you decided recklessly. Your ego had taken a hit earlier and you were going to ride this feeling of euphoria as far as it would take you.

"You sure you're alright?" Alan asked as you gathered up your belongings.

"I'm fine," you smiled at him. "Tell Li I said hi."

As you walked out of the pub into the London night, Tom wrapped his arm around you and pulled you in for another kiss, letting his hands roam a bit as he did. They felt large and capable as they slid down your back and over your hips, and you turned so that your own arms wrapped around his neck. He was every bit as tall as you had thought, making it necessary for you to arch up to him as he bent down towards you. For as skinny as he was, he still managed to feel as though his form completely encompassed you as he took you in his arms.

"Where to?" he panted, resting his forehead against yours.

"Yours?" you suggested, thinking of the messy state of your apartment.

"My lease doesn't start until Monday," he groaned, "I'm staying at my mum's right now. Yours then?"

"It's a mess, and I have a super possessive cat," were the inane words that came out of your mouth as he started kissing your neck. 

"I love a good mess, and cats love me," he purred into your ear.

"The tube stop's that way," you gasped, indicating with your head.

"Bugger that, I'm getting us a car," he said firmly, hand skimming against the side of your breast.

"Okay," you agreed instantly, thinking the sooner you were alone inside the better.

Minutes later you were cuddled in the back of a taxi, trying your best not to maul each other too openly. You were fairly certain the driver knew what was going on, how could he not? He kept his eyes studiously on the road and didn't speak past ascertaining your address.

"You're sure you're okay with this?" Tom asked as his long fingers played with the hem of your skirt where it landed just above your knee. 

"More than okay," you nodded bighting your lower lip.

"And you're not too drunk?" he asked, sliding his hand upward under the fabric.

"Nope," you gasped out, thinking it was probably true. "Feeling remarkably clear headed right now."

"Hmm..." he smirked and leaned in to kiss your neck. "I'll have to see what I can do about that."

Tom moved his head quickly to swallow your cry as his hand found its way up to the apex of your thighs, brushing lightly over your knickers. You shamelessly parted your legs and felt rather than heard him murmur his approval against your lips. When his fingers pushed the cotton aside to find the slick flesh underneath, you cursed that your dim hopes for the night had led you to wear utilitarian rather than sexy undies, but all that vanished as he began stroking you.

"Darling, you're so deliciously wet," he whispered into your ear. "I can't wait to see how all this feels wrapped around me."

"Oh God," you moaned into his shoulder. "God I want you."

"That's right, darling," he cooed, finding your clit with his thumb and giving it some expert attention. "Show me how much."

Your back arched and you bit his shoulder as the orgasm his you. It was shocking how quickly he had brought you there, and in the back of a taxi no less! As your breath came hard and fast you heard him chuckle and he kissed the top you head. He drew his fingers slowly out of you and brought them up to his mouth, sucking them off one by one.

"God, the things I want to do to you," he purred into you ear, making you whimper.

You lifted your head and smiled a glazed-eyed smile at him, taking in once more just how startlingly handsome he was, especially now with his eyes lust blown and his face flushed. You had made him that way, you thought proudly.

"So," he smiled that cocky, smug smile. "Do you think you might want to tell me your name?"


	2. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom has come home with you - how will you ever let him leave?

It was a feeling of absence that pulled you awake. That didn't make sense a first, as Mercutio was still curled up next to you on the bed, one paw resting on your arm in a gesture of ownership. As you blinked your eyes open slowly, your naked state and the sweet soreness between your legs began to bring the memory of the previous night back into your not yet fully awake brain. There had been, until moments ago, a long, slender body curled up next to you breathing softly into your hair.

Realizing what exactly you had done the night before, you sat up in your bed, hugging the sheet to your chest in a display of belated modesty. You never did this! Oh, you had indulged in a "friends with benefits" arrangement for a few months years back, and you might have enjoyed a tipsy romp with a friend of a friend in your time, but to pick up a complete stranger in a bar and bring him back to your flat - that was not like you at all! And on top of that, you had taken him raw! His release was even now sticky on your thighs. For all you knew, he might be a criminal! A gorgeous criminal with unbelievable stamina, but still!

Glancing through the slightly ajar door to the Livingroom, you could make out a shape pacing back in forth. As you watched, his voice floated through the apartment to your straining ears.

"Hi, Mum? Mum, it's me," he spoke quietly into a flip phone. "I just wanted you to know I'm fine. Yeah, I stayed over at friend's last night. No, no one you know. No Mum, not Cheryl. I said you didn't know them. Yeah, I was out with the gang from Eton. It was fun. Okay, I just didn't want you to worry. Listen, I have to go. I'll probably be out all day, so don't expect me in. Yes mum. I know I have a lot to do. I’ll get it sorted, I promise. Love you too. Bye."

As he hung up with his mother, Tom heaved a huge sigh and turned back towards the bedroom. Not wanting to be caught spying, you threw yourself back down onto the bed and pretended to be asleep. How young was he that he was calling his mother to let her know where he was? He had mentioned Eton. That confirmed your suspicion that he was super posh, but dear God, he was older than a public school boy, wasn't he? Frantically you poured through your conversation and remembered he was a recent graduate of Cambridge. Not _that_ bad then, at least.

You could not resist slitting your eyes just a bit to catch a look at him as he sauntered back into your bedroom, stretching his catlike body as he walked. His frame was slight, but muscle corded underneath his pale skin, giving him a wiry strength. In the pale morning light he looked like nothing so much as a Greek statue, tousled curls and all. He paused as he reached the bed and looked down at you, smiling as his eyes raked over your body, covered but clearly outlined beneath the bedsheet. After taking you all in, he bent over and pulled his boxers off, hand gliding over his erection, before climbing back into bed and snuggling against your back.

As you felt him hard against you, you pressed automatically back into his heat, forgetting that you had been feigning sleep. His hand found your breast and began lightly fondling it as he leaned in to kiss the side of your throat.

"Good morning, darling," he purred into your ear in that voice that made you shiver. "Sleep well?"

"Well, but not much," you admitted, giving up all pretense.

It was true enough.

_The moment you had exited the cab, Tom had been on you, hands, lips, body, all working to explore you as you staggered towards your doorway. You had fumbled with the keys while he ground his hard-on into you from behind, whispering to you to hurry as though he was not the one making it take longer with his teasing._

_The door had barely closed behind you before he had your dress pulled off over your head and you were slamming against the wall, his large hands mapping your body with an urgency you returned eagerly. He had let out a moan as you reached down and unzipped his jeans, making your arousal grow even more if possible. His cock, hard and heavy, fell out into your hand as he pushed his jeans and boxers down below his ass, and you stroked it greedily, impressed and a little intimidated by his size. One of your legs lifted to hook around his waist, and he bucked into you, letting you feel what would soon be filling the aching space that screamed out for him._

_"Oh, fuck!" he swore, eyes suddenly opening as he pulled back slightly._

_"What?" you panted, desperate for him to continue his siege on your body._

_"Condom," he ground out, shutting his eyes and cursing again. "I don't have a bloody condom. I don't suppose you..." he trailed off as he eyed you hopefully._

_"No," you said, hearing a whine slip into your voice. "It's been a bit of a dry spell for me actually."_

_"God damn!" he swore, eyes devouring you as you writhed against each other. "Look I would never impose..."_

_"I'm on the pill," you heard yourself say, as he moaned and sucked on your neck._

_"Are you saying?" he asked, head of his cock thrusting into your tummy._

_"I'm clean, I promise," you panted, not believing how desperate you sounded._

_"Me too. Can I?"_

_"Oh god, yes!"_

_He had kissed you hard before lifting you up, legs around his waist, and walking you over to the sofa. You flopped down gracelessly, struggling to remove your underwear and to get his jeans the rest of the way off. When you had shucked the offending garments, he pressed you onto your back and lined himself up with your entrance, rubbing his cock back and forth to coat it in your arousal._

_"You're sure?" he asked again, eyes locking with yours._

_"Please," you begged, and he smiled and thrust himself inside you._

_Both of you had let out a loud moan as his cock found its home within your tight walls. It was almost painful the stretch he forced on you, but paradoxically felt like heaven. When he began to move all thought flew from your mind and you let the euphoria of sliding bodies, grasping hands, and searching mouths fill your world._

_Youth had something to recommend it it seemed, as Tom had pushed you through a series of climaxes, varying position but never losing his energy or releasing himself. You didn't know if it had been one hour or three when finally, sweat drenched and exhausted, body over stimulated to the point of pain, but still wanting more, you had leaned in to whisper in his ear._

_"I want you cum," you had told him, squeezing down around him with your inner walls._

_"Oh fuck," he hissed through his teeth, eyes wild. He adjusted again, lifting your legs up to wrap around his neck and changing the angle so that his pelvis grazed your clit and his cock hit your inner sweet spot with every hard thrust. "Say that again, darling."_

_"I want you to make you cum," you repeated, bold now with the way he seemed unable to get enough of you, his passion brining out your own. "I want to feel you explode into me. Fill me up. Claim me."_

_"Cum once more with me, darling," he had begged, his thrusts getting desperate and sloppy. "Show me how much you want it."_

_His voice more than anything had reached a place within you that no one else had ever discovered before, and you had felt yourself, despite your exhaustion, orgasm once more around his length. As you spasmed in completion, Tom had cried out your name, along with a string of profanity, and shot his release deep within you._

He laughed now, a reckless, joyful sound, as he nuzzled his face into your hair. 

"Sorry if I kept you up too late," he said, voice dripping with insincerity. 

"Did I say I was complaining?" you asked, gasping as his hand ghosted over the flesh between your navel and your mound.

"It's your own fault you know," he told you, fingers slowly drifting south as you held your breath. 

"How's that?" you tried to keep your voice as light as his, despite the havoc he was wreaking on you.

"Have you looked in the mirror?" he asked, finally finding your center and humming a bit as he flicked over your clit. "I was half hard from the minute your walked in. And that was _before_ I found out you were a puzzle girl!"

"Yes, crossword puzzles," you rolled your eyes and then moaned and spread your legs automatically as he pressed between them. "The ultimate aphrodisiac."

"They are," he nodded, ignoring your tone. "I wanted to have my wicked way with you right there on the bar if you must know."

The image of Tom lifting you onto the bar and fucking you then and there flashed through your mind, adding to the wetness already drenching you. You could still feel him from last night, sticky on your bedsheets and your inner thighs, and already you were shamelessly wet all over again. It was almost alarming how easily he slid his cock up into you from behind, sighing in contentment as you pulled him farther inside your needy walls.

"God, you feel perfect," he hummed, "I can't believe I got this lucky."

You laughed at the absurdity of this golden Adonis being the lucky one, but sensed he saw nothing but the truth beneath his words. His hands returned to slowly exploring your body, and every once in a while he would thrust lazily up into you, but mostly he seemed content to just feel you around him, giving happy little sighs as you spasmed and fluttered.

"So what does my beauty do?" he asked, kissing on your shoulder lightly.

"I... I'm a writer," you told him, struggling to maintain the same calm he was showing as he played with your nipple.

"Oh, that's interesting! What do you write?"

"I'm working on a novel right now," you managed.

"Really! I am humbled to be in the presence of such talent!"

"Don't tease," your voice skirted up, as he sucked a sweet spot on your neck.

"I'm not! I have a deep appreciation for writers! I wouldn't have a career without them!"

"It's just a silly period romance I'm working on now," you downplayed, whimpering as his hand returned to your clit. "Not a real novel."

"It's imaginary then?" you could _feel_ the eyebrow raise in his voice.

"No... I just meant... ahh!" your back arched and you became incapable of speech.

"Don't sell your work short," he told you, his own voice becoming rougher as he seemed to be loosing his own control. "Story telling is important. It's what brings us together as human beings. And what could ever be more important than romance? Than love?"

A wave of gratitude washed over you as his words soothed your insecurity. There were no more words after that, except those moaned and whispered as he brought you once more to the edge of sanity and then gleefully followed you over into the abyss that lay beyond.

Later, as you cuddled in his possessive arms, drifting in an out of peaceful sleep, Tom tipped your chin up and you met eyes that were old beyond their years.

"Never be ashamed of anything you create, darling," he told you earnestly. "Creation is the most powerful gift granted any of us. It's a gift both to you and to those you allow to share it."

***

The two weeks following was one of the best times of your life. If you thought your adventure with Tom was destined to be a one off you were quickly proven wrong. He showed absolutely no inclination to leave your flat that day, rummaging through your cupboards as though they were his own, making the occasional disparaging comment at your lack of pantry items. As you watched him bemusedly from the stool at the breakfast nook, he proceeded to use your food to cobble together a far tastier breakfast than anything you could assemble. Watching him cook in nothing but one of your aprons, admiring his bare backside as he stood at your stove, you decided you could get used to this.

You got very little work done on your novel, distracted as you were by the insatiable young man who had all but taken up residence in your home. Tom would make dashes back to his mother's for clothing, or to take care of some last minute prep he needed to do before his classes started, but for the most part he was your constant companion. In the far back of your mind you knew this couldn't last. He had an exciting new life just about to start and you were not a part of it. Still, as he lounged next to you in various states of undress, you managed to push the knowledge aside and live in the moment of extended bliss that he continued to bring you.

He would, sometimes, insist that you focus on your work. He didn't want to keep the world from discovering the next great novelist he said. But as you would try to type, steadfastly keeping your screen tilted away from his eyes, he would give you that mischievous look you were coming to love and slip to his knees in front of your chair, spreading your legs and humming in appreciation at your constantly wet center.

"What are you doing?" you asked on one such occasion. "You were the one who said I should write!"

"And so you should," he told you, leaning forward to plant a kiss just where it was certain to make you moan. "I am simply here to provide inspiration. You said it was a romance, after all."

There was very little writing done after that, but neither of you was complaining.

There was more to your time together than just earth shattering sex, however. To say Tom was chatty was an understatement, and you began to learn more and more about the endlessly restless man who had quickly become the focus of your days and nights.

He was deeply intelligent - the double firsts in Classics was no accident. His mind searched out the hidden meanings behind things, the emotions at the center that drove people to act as they did. He was passionate about acting, and you could tell from how he spoke of it that nothing would be allowed to stand in the way of achieving his goal and becoming a world class actor. Sheepishly he admitted that he had already filmed several bit parts for the BBC, as well as a tv movie with Albert Finney. You were startled that someone who had already been so successful - he had secured an agent from a college production for heaven's sake - would still be determined to enroll in such a rigorous program as you knew RADA to be. But Tom was not willing to rest on his natural talent and remarkable good looks to make him a celebrity. He wanted the training that would raise him to the level of his idols - great theatre icons all. You had no doubt he would one day be among their ranks.

On one of the occasions when he had grudgingly returned to his family home at his mother's insistence, you settled in and watch his movie. You were not surprised, exactly, at his level of performance. No, you had guessed that he would be excellent. It was more that it confirmed something that had been hiding below your conscious mind. He was lightning in a bottle, this beautiful boy who had dropped like an angel into your life. He was going to be a sensation.

He was not going to be yours.

The knowledge sat like a stone in your stomach. You knew that your heart was perilously close to being lost. It would be the easiest thing you had ever done to tumble head over ears in love with him. You were not completely sure you had not taken that deadly first step already. It was vital that you keep what was left of your soul your own.

You remembered your own time at school. It had been filled with work, friends, learning, allowing very little outside of the bubble of the institution to intrude. And you had been merely at university. From what you had read (yes, you had stealthily researched the school when he was elsewhere) RADA was so all encompassing that it would make your schooling look like a correspondence course. He would have no time for a relationship. He deserved to be free. Free to enjoy his new adventures without a stone around his neck. As much as you didn’t want to let him go, you saw the writing on the wall. Your time together had an expiration date, and it was fast approaching.


	3. Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time has passed and our lovers are no longer together. Can a twist of fate reunite them again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so warning that there is ANGST in this chapter! Oh, the horrible angst! But anyone who has read my stuff should know that I am a hopeless (and hopeful) romantic, so please to do not take it too much to heart!

“If you’ll just have a seat, they’ll be with you in a moment,” the production assistant told you with a smile. 

”They?” You echoed uncertainly. 

Apparently the perky young p.a. had not heard you, as she breezed out of the conference room leaving you to wait. Anxiously you crossed to the side table and looked over the assorted beverages before selecting a simple bottle of water. Your hands were shaking a bit, and you didn’t want to spill anything on your new, expensive outfit that would stain. 

It was not your first meeting with Susie Laufer, the woman who would be directing the movie adaptation of your series, but you still were not used to rubbing shoulders with Hollywood elite. You had not been quite a hermit over the last fifteen plus years, but you had hardly been a social butterfly. Most of your time had been devoted to your work rather than cleaving out a thriving social life. After finishing your first, embarrassingly lackluster novel, you had gone back to the drawing board in an attempt to find that inner spark that had led you to write in the first place.

 _In_ _the_ _Timing_ , your best selling romance trilogy, was the fulfillment of all of those years of soul searching. A romance set in the Edwardian period, it still managed to be modern and funny, with a central couple who represented all you wanted in your own life. You acknowledged mentally how pathetic it was that you basically lived your romantic life through your writing, but for years that had been the way of things. No relationship you had attempted had ever been able to compete with the passion that burned on the pages between your William and Emily. Only the brief affair you refused to think about, lest the pain overwhelm you, had even come close.

It had been optioned by one of the premiere art house studios just over a year ago. As part of the negotiations, you had insisted on a certain level of creative control, including input into the director and major casting. Securing a top tier female auteur to helm the film had been beyond your wildest dreams, and you still could not believe that she was listening to your input so attentively.

It went a long way towards stilling your panic over the idea of others interpreting your work. The novels were like your children, intensely personal and important to you. They may be set in a different era, but they contained a large chunk of your soul in their DNA. Susie had called you this morning, asking you to drive out to her offices to go over a few things. As always, your mind had jumped to all the things that might be going wrong. 

”You’re here! Great!” the little dynamo said as she burst into the room. “Oh, don’t look like that, there’s nothing wrong. I just have someone I want you to meet. His agent contacted us about the role of William, if you can believe it, and I think he is perfect casting! I would never have thought we could land him, to be honest, but apparently he loved your script.”

”Who is it?” You asked hesitantly, wondering what sort of actor would be brought in to play your hero. Some of the names the studio heads had mentioned, big, handsomely bankable movie stars with more muscles than brains, were so far from your vision that you were uncertain whether to laugh or run.

”Here, let me get him,” she opened the door and leaned out into the hallway. “Tom! Stop flirting with my assistant and get in here, you naughty boy!”

”Sorry, didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

The voice, caramel and chocolate and everything warm and tempting, hit your ears and stopped your heart. You knew what was coming, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you would not survive it. You couldn’t. Frantically, while your body stood motionless, frozen to the spot, your mind searched for a way out of this room, this city, this country. The twentieth floor window seemed a perfectly reasonable escape exit, but you were not given time to lunge for it before a tall, self-assured figure of a man walked into the room and your world slipped off its axis. 

_You were back. Back to 17 years ago on a cool night in September. A disheveled looking Tom stood shirtless in your bedroom, hands on his slender hips, staring down at you where you sat curled up on your bed hugging a pillow._

_”Tom please, don’t be angry,” you entreated, trying to keep your own voice under control._

_”Don’t be angry?” He scoffed, running a hand through his already wild hair. “You just told me you’re chucking me!”_

_“No, that’s not what I said!” You insisted._

_”Really? Cuz it sure sounded like it to me.”_

_”Tom, I’m trying to do the right thing here!” You told him as he paced before you. “You’re about to start a whole new phase of your life. You are going to be so busy at school, and with your acting. Do you really want to be tied down to someone?”_

_Even though you knew the words were true as they came out of your mouth, you hated the very thought of them. All you wanted, more than you had ever wanted anything, was to pull him back into your bed and throw your arms around him, never letting him leave again.  
_

_”You sound like my mum,” he sneered. “She would love this, you know. Every time I see her she tells me how stupid I am for spending time with you. Maybe she was right after all and I am just an idiot.”_

_”No, Tom, you’re not stupid! You are the cleverest, most brilliant person I know. God, just the thought of not seeing you anymore is killing me!”_

_”Then don’t!” He leapt at your admission, jumping onto the bead and taking you into his arms. “Don’t do this to us. Look, I know that school will be hard, but it will be easier with you to come home to at the end of the day. You anchor me, darling, don’t you see that?”_

_”The last thing you need right now is an anchor,” you sighed. “You need to allow yourself to fly! You have so much talent, and I don’t want to be the one to stand in your way.”_

_”You know, I think your date had it right that night,” he said bitterly, pushing you away. “You should have just told me from the start that all you were looking for was an easy, meaningless shag. At least that way I would have known not to feel anything for you.”_

_Your heart shattered as you watched him wipe the tears from his eyes angrily. How had you done this? The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this!_

_”It’s not supposed to be like this,” he said, as if reading your thoughts. “Don’t you understand, I’m in love with you?”_

_The words were like a fist to your stomach. Yet even uttered as they were with rage and despair they were the sweetest thing you had ever heard.  
_

_”Tom...”_

_”If you even try to tell me that I’m not, or that I’m too young, or some bollocks like that, I will never forgive you,” he rasped out, covering his face with his hands. “I know what I feel, and I am in love with you.”_

_You felt your tongue bleed as you bit down on it to keep from saying the words back to him. You felt it too. Felt it even though you knew it was wrong. He was right, all of this was wrong.  
_

_”You’ll get over it,” you said at last, hating yourself for the cold words._

_”You will regret this,” he said, rising from your bed with a sob and pulling his shirt over his head. “I swear you will regret this.”_

_I already do, you thought as you heard him storm out of your flat, only then allowing the tears you had been holding back to flow freely down as you sobbed your heart out into your pillow._

_He had continued to try, calling you repeatedly and leaving alternately tearful and angry messages on your machine as you sat in a fetal position and cried listening to his voice. He had even shown up at your flat one night, drunk and sobbing, banging on the door and begging you to let him in. It had taken more strength than you knew you possessed to keep from turning the lock and pleading for his forgiveness. You had moved shortly after, subletting your place and taking a cottage outside of Bath to get away from the temptation._

"Hi," he smiled. "I'm Tom, it's great to..."

As his eyes, still the same piercingly blue pools you remembered from all of those years ago, met yours his words trailed off. For just the briefest instant you saw the recognition flash across his face, the shock, anger, and perhaps a flicker of hope followed by a pain so intense you wondered if you had truly seen it. And then those fathomless eyes were shuttered, and a cold stranger had taken the place of your beautiful boy, despite the smile that remained on his expressive mouth.

"I'm Tom," he said again, all the excitement gone, replaced by a counterfeit enthusiasm that you were sure would fool most people. "It's good to meet you, Ms... Thomas?"

"A pen name," Susie interjected as you blushed

"Ah," he nodded, doing a good replication of committing to memory your real name, supplied by Susie, that he already knew. "Interesting choice of nom de plume. Your husband's, perhaps?"

"I'm not married," you finally found your voice enough to mutter, shifting your feet and looking down at the floor.

"Tom, stop it!" Susie hit his arm playfully. "You'll have to forgive him, he's a shameless flirt. I swear he's completely harmless. One of the most spotless reputations in the business, unless you count all of the pining hearts he has left in his wake."

"I have no doubt," you mumbled, trying to ignore the insane jealousy that rose up at her words.

You had not seen the man in over a decade, you could hardly expect him to have become a monk. Indeed, you knew it had been otherwise. You tortured yourself on regular intervals by reading about all of his romantic entanglements, legitimate and pure speculation. Whenever you saw pictures of him in papers or gossip magazines with some appropriately glamorous, beautiful, well toned, _young_ actress or musician you would slip a little farther into the depression that hovered incessantly around memories of him, fighting with the melancholy happiness that thoughts of him also engendered. 

You followed his career as well, feeling not a bit of surprise when he took off first on the stage and then at lightning speed following his success with Marvel. The Loki movies (as you thought of them) were a source of painful delight to you, and you watched them on a regular basis. Some of his other work, Crimson Peak in particular, were harder to bear. You remembered all too clearly, even after all this time, the look in his eye when he was consumed by desire. The night you had seen the gothic romance in the theater you had gone home and wept yourself to sleep, knowing you would never see that look again in person. That you had pushed him away and deprived yourself of the light he radiated.

Seeing him here now, standing close enough to touch, all of the pain and love threatened to overwhelm you. He was different, it was true. The lithe, slender boy had filled out in remarkable ways. His shoulders seemed to have twice the breadth that you remembered, and wiry muscles and grown into biceps and chest that strained against the material of his tight blue shirt. You shoved your hands into your pockets to keep from running them over his torso to feel the difference in your darling Tom. His hair had darkened as well, turning from a golden floof of curls into a bronzed lion's mane, complete with coppery beard that made him look more serious.

But the biggest change was to his expression. Your Tom had been a wellspring of exuberance, untamed and boundless in his energy. The energy still remained, but it was coiled now, held in a tight restraint that added tension to his shoulders, wariness to the handsome lines around his smile.

"You've read _In the Timing_ then?" you asked, hating the needy tone that had slipped into your voice. His opinion mattered more than anyone's, you suddenly realized.

"I have," he nodded. "My mother is a fan, you see. Rather ironic, wouldn't you say?"

You swallowed, thinking of his mother's disapproval of your relationship, and tried to smile.

"Why would you say that?" Susie asked, happily unaware of the history surrounding her. "Mothers are our core audience! Sisters too, of course, and wives."

"Ah, but I don't have a wife," he smiled at her, and you hated her for the twinkle that she received. "Mum kept blabbing on about how much the hero... William is it? William reminded her of me. When she read it was going to be made into a film, she hounded me until I read the script."

"And?" it was so difficult to form syllables with his eyes resting unreadable on your face.

"She obviously has a mother's bias," he shrugged. "I don't nearly measure up to the character on the page. Still, it is a good script, and I have been gunning to play a romantic comedy. For some reason, it seems only tragedy and horror comes my way."

"Which is ridiculous, as you are deliciously funny!" Susie interjected, smiling brightly at him. 

"I could not presume to comment on that," he said politely, "but I thank you unreservedly for the complement. However, our illustrious author should have some say over whether or not I might be right for her romantic hero."

"Of course," Susie smiled. "Although if she has seen any of your work she must know you'd be perfect."

Tom raised one of those damnably speaking eyebrows at you, clearly demanding to know if you had seen his films. You could see the remnants of the brash, justly proud youth in that look, and you smiled despite the way it knifed at your heart.

"I have caught a performance or two," you said, not daring to admit that you had practically memorized everything he had ever committed to film or video.

"Well then," your director clapped a hand to each of your shoulders, moving you slightly closer together and strengthening the magnetic pull you felt as a physical force between you, "why don't you two go have some lunch and discus it. I have a meeting in ten, but I'm sure you'll get on fine without me. Just go ahead and charge it to the studio."

"If the lady is willing," Tom showed his teeth in a proximity of a smile, daring you with his eyes.

"Sure," you replied with a shrug, consigning yourself to your grave.

"Excellent. I'll see you out, and then."

And just like that Susie was ushering you to the elevator and giving you each a kiss goodbye. You ground your teeth at the full body hug she received from Tom, remembering all too well how safe his arms could make one feel. You had forfeited that safety long ago, and it ached to see it offered to another.

As the two of you waited for the lift Tom stood with his hands clasped behind his back, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The coiled energy you had felt from the moment he entered the conference room had multiplied now that you were alone, and you caught the occasional quick glance he shot your way every few seconds. It was enough to make your knees week; you hoped the lift came soon or you would have to sit down.

When the doors in front of you finally opened, he gestured for you to proceed him in, a gentleman still to his very core. You scurried past him, going all the way to the back of the massive car, and took a deep breath before turning to face him as the silver doors closed behind his tall frame.

You eyes scaled his height, shamelessly allowing yourself to look at all the changes time had made to him, and then stopped, completely arrested, when you saw the way he was glowering at you. A jolt of fear laced with intense desire shot through you, and you fought to stifle a moan your body longed to make.

"Tom," you began, licking your lips and trying to straighten your thoughts, "I swear to god, I had no idea you would be involved in any way with this!"

A noise that was more a growl than anything else erupted from his chest, and with a harsh motion he reached out and pulled the "stop" button on the console. As the elevator jolted to a halt, he took the one step necessary with his mile long legs to trap you against the back wall, caging you in with his body.

"Quiet," he commanded, voice rough and unyielding. And you nodded instinctively.

He stared at you with unreadable eyes for an interminable moment, and then his arms, so familiar and yet completely altered in strength, were wrapped around you, one at the back of your head and one your waist, and pulling you in to a kiss that was as punishing as it was passionate. Years of anger, of frustration, and of pent up lust flew between you as he dominated your mouth, allowing no quarter as he worked his tongue between your lips and took possession of you willingly. His hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back to grant him greater access, and he pressed you against the wall, letting you feel all the lovely alterations to his body. Amidst all the changes, one thing was distractingly familiar, and you could feel it demandingly hard against your stomach as he rotated his hips into you. You would have given yourself to him right there and then, you knew. Security cameras be damned, if this man wanted to take you in the elevator you would have held on and enjoyed the ride that only he had ever been able to give you.

As brusquely as he had initiated the kiss, Tom ended. With a half grunt, half moan, he tore himself away from your lips and spun to lean against the far wall of the elevator, head resting against his forearm as he fought to return his breath to normal. You fell back against the near wall of the lift, shaking as tears filled your eyes, completely bereft now that you were no longer in his embrace.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, voice once more the polite mask it had been in the conference room. "That was wrong of me. I can only plead surprise and apologize sincerely for my behavior."

"There's no need to apologize," you ventured, envying him his actor's control over his voice as yours came out as a weak quaver. "If anyone should be saying sorry, it's me."

"For what?" he asked tonelessly as he stood and adjusted his clothing. 

"You know for what," you whispered. "I should have... I should have done things differently."

"A lifetime ago," he shrugged, offering you a bland smile. "Ancient history best left in the past."

"If that's what you want," you swallowed and tried to pull yourself together.

"It's what it is," he replied with a laugh. "Shall we go to lunch? Unless, of course, you don't want me near your project. After my unconscionable behavior just now, I would totally understand."

"No," you shook your head, realizing that now that you had seen him again, _kissed_ him again, you could not let him go that quickly. "No, I don't feel that way at all. Let's go to lunch."

Nodding once, Tom took a deep breath and pressed the button to restart the elevator. As you began moving once more, stark reality descended as well. You had made the biggest mistake of your life letting this man go. You had loved him then, and you had no doubt that the same pure, shining heart lived inside the man beside you. It was more likely than not that you were tilting at windmills, but you would never forgive yourself if you did not attempt to win him back.

Win back the man who MTV had voted not all that long ago "the sexiest man alive," you thought as you stared at his sternly perfect profile. Tilting at windmills, you realized, might be easier.


	4. Time's Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have met Tom again, now you have to work with him.

As the weeks progressed, you came to realize one thing with tragic clarity: Hell and Heaven were in fact the self same thing, with the only difference being how you were allowed to interact within them. For there was Tom, your handsome, darling Tom, whom you had never thought to meet again. Your eyes beheld his beauty, your ears took in the deep, soothing cadence of his voice and the infectious joy of his laughter, you even breathed in that same never forgotten scent that made you want to burrow into his neck and stay there forever. It was all you had fantasized about for years, and it should have been Heaven.

And yet his voice, so warm for everyone else, was cool and impersonal when he spoke to you. His eyes, once conduits of emotion that shone forth brightly, were dark and closed off. Worse, close as he was, you never touched. It was as though after that searing kiss in the elevator you had both retreated behind masks of polite indifference.

All through the lunch that followed he had talked to you like someone he had just met, a business acquaintance at best. He had questions, intelligent and probing, but they were all about the character he was to play in the movie. Of course it was never a question of if you would cast him - the role had literally been written for him, though you were not conscious of it at the time. He was respectful of your opinion and noticed things that even you had not been aware of. If he were any other actor, you would have been over the moon with the meeting.

As it was, you wanted to strangle him. How dare he be so polite, so reserved and well-mannered? This was the man who had saucily chided you for your sloppy housekeeping while rummaging naked through your cupboards, who had acted out ridiculous recreations of his favorite movies for your delight, and who had made such passionate love to you that no man you had taken to your bed since had been able to drive out for a moment the memory of his mouth on your skin, his body pressed to yours. He was the same man who had pounded on your door one night before dawn, sobbing and demanding to be let back in, so that he could prove his love to you. Was all that forgotten?

In another twist of the knife that should have been a cause for excitement, Susie had decided that she strongly valued your input on the film. You were flatteringly invited to participate in all manner of things that kept you in regular attendance both in the studio and on location, now moved to the south of England where the story took place. You were able to experience the sweet agony of costume fittings, watching Tom be poured into one pair of tight fitting breaches and waistcoat after another, so that you were all but drooling by the end. You sat in auditions for the lead actress, and went through the torture of seeing him read words of love, words you had imagined him saying to you, to one after another beautiful woman who melted into his arms and seemed transfixed by his blue gaze.

When it was time for the first table read, of course you were present. Susie wanted you on hand to be able to make any needed adjustments to the dialogue. It was your first chance to ever watch Tom in action as "leading man" and you were not disappointed. He had somehow learned the names of everyone attending, from the lowest p.a. to each and every member of the cast. He took the time to speak with each of them one on one about their place on the set, showering them with the kind of intense attention that ensured they would from that moment on fight, maim, and kill for the ridiculously enthusiastic nuisance. Only to you was he stand-offish, thanking you for being there, praising your words, but keeping his eyes shuttered and his arms crossed over his gloriously defined pecs as he said all of the correct words. 

"I don't understand," the lead actress huffed when you were at a break in the read, "why is it such a big deal if they get married? Their families are even friends."

"Because of the age difference," Susie told her with a sigh.

Madeline, the actress you had cast, was quite talented but she was obviously not a mensa candidate, and had no real familiarity with the period. She had not exactly been your first choice, but after the money spent to secure Susie, as well as Tom's fee, she was the best you could get. You only hoped she did not bring down the quality of the ensemble.

"But it's only a few years," she looked legitimately puzzled by the idea.

"Yeah, but _she's_ the older one," the director explained with as much patience as she could muster. "Back then, women usually married men a decade or so their senior. For a man to marry an older woman would be seen as a cause for scorn."

"But that's so stupid," she complained.

"I must agree I'm afraid," Tom said, giving you a side eye. "It is a shame that some people are just shallow that way. They let trivial things that hold no real import dictate the course of their lives. In point of fact, I'm amazed how much you still see that sort of thing happen among unenlightened people today."

As digs went it was not exactly subtle, but it served to win him a glowing smile from Maddie and he returned it smugly while pointedly not looking at you. You ground your teeth and kept your eyes on your notes, struggling not to rise to the bait.

On top of everything else, the actor playing Tom's father seemed to be taken with you. It was as if the universe had decided that this final bit of indignity was all that was needed to make your life complete. Gregory would find ways to sit next to you, engaging you in conversation with a smile that you were sure would have charmed you in other circumstances even if he was more in your parents age range than yours. As it was, all it did was remind you and everyone else in the room, particularly a certain long legged, curly haired peacock, that you were of an older demographic.

On the other hand, you could not help but notice that when Gregory smiled at you, or held out your chair in a gracious gesture, the telltale muscle you had long ago discovered in Tom's jaw would clench in a way designed to set the butterflies flurrying in your stomach. He might be studious avoiding you, but he did not like that you were receiving attention from someone else. You could only hope that this was a good sign.

All of this was driving you more than a little mad, and you decided that maybe, for the sake of the movie if not your sanity, you should back off a bit from the production. With this in mind, and a cold feeling of dread in your stomach, you paid Susie a visit one morning after shooting had wrapped for the day.

"I think maybe I should stay away for a while," you had told the tiny director as she sat before a wall of monitors looking at the dailies. "I feel like I make the actors nervous, and I don't want to get in the way of their performances, particularly Tom's."

It was not nerves exactly that you thought you inspired in him, but you were not about to tell her that Tom hated you for breaking his heart back when he was just a baby actor. She would no doubt think you were crazy or laugh hysterically at the idea.

"You can't do that!" she said now, turning from the playback to look you in the eye. "We need you for dialogue tweaks! And besides, it was Tom himself who insisted you be on set. I'd hardly call that making him nervous!"

The sound of blood rushing in your ears deafened you for a moment as you blinked at her, mouth no doubt hanging open like a fish. 

"Tom insisted?" you repeated back to her, trying to ignore the surge of hope that flared in your chest.

"Yeah, from the very beginning. He said he would do the film, but he wanted you on hand as much as possible."

"Really?" you could feel your face beginning to smile, and focused on not breaking into a dopey grin.

"Yeah," she replied, cocking an eyebrow at your reaction. "I've wondered about it, actually, because he seems a little odd around you. You know, for a while I wondered if the two of you were having an affair of some sort. Only reason I could think of for him to be so stiff and formal in front of people with you."

"Oh, Susie, I assure you..." you started, feeling yourself blush.

"Don't worry hon, I got over that idea," she laughed. "You are way too stressed out and tense all the time for that to be the case. If you were getting it from that man on the regular, you would be way more relaxed!"

Your laugh had an edge of mania to it, but you couldn't help it. She was right, of course, Tom was better than any full body massage for tension build up. 

"Well good," you said aloud. "We are absolutely not having an affair."

"Yeah, now I figure he just has a crush. Along with respecting you as a writer, of course."

"A crush?" you gaped at her. "On me?"

"Oh, hon, open your eyes! He stares at you all the time when you're not paying attention. And let me tell you, I may prefer women, but the look in that boy's eyes is almost enough to convince me to make an exception! Plus, I thought he was going to punch Gregory the other day when he brushed you hair behind your ear. If you ask me, you should totally hit that. In fact, I will be severely disappointed in you if you don't."

"You have to be wrong," you told her, hoping beyond hope she was not. "Tom is attractive on an entirely different level, and I am just... ordinary. I mean, he goes out with the sexiest women in Hollywood, what would he want with a middle aged writer?"

"First, give yourself some credit," Susie glared at you. "You may not be a spring chicken, but that's a good thing. Your looks are not ingenue, but that doesn't mean they're not beautiful! Hell, if I were single I might give him a run for his money! And second, give Tom some credit as well. He's got an eye for beauty, sure. Who wouldn't if given the opportunity. But that doesn't mean he values looks more than what's inside. A smart woman who can craft a story that I have seen make him laugh and cry? Who also, as we have just stated, is easy on the eyes? Why wouldn't he be interested?"

"Huh," was all you could come up with, despite your supposed way with words.

"Yeah. So What I'm saying is, go home, get some rest, and show up tomorrow looking gorge. Unless you're really not interested, but judging by the way _you_ stare at _him_ I think we both know that's not the case."

She had definitely given you a lot to think over. Could it be possible that Tom did still have feelings for you? The "lift incident," as you had taken to thinking of it, certainly pointed in that direction. That kiss had been full of passion. Was it fear then, keeping him from you? Anger? Wounded pride? Or was it possible he was just punishing you by making you come to the set, knowing that he still was under your skin when he was at best indifferent?

Taking Susie's advice, you showed up to set the next day in a particularly attractive outfit. You wouldn't exactly call it provocative - you weren't really the type for that in a work setting - but you did put on pretty sun dress that showed off your shapely legs and bit of cleavage. You knew from experience that Tom was a breast man, and you were determined to use all of your assets to your advantage.

You were immensely gratified when, upon your arrival, he stopped mid sentence in a conversation with the focus puller and watched you walk slowly across the room. A small smile played about your lips as you sat in one of the chairs and daintily crossed your legs. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him shake his head, jaw spasming slightly, before turning back and continuing his conversation.

Lunch had just been called when you saw him once more glowering in your direction. You were about to cross the room to say hello, you had been keeping your distance all morning, when Gregory sauntered over to you with a toothy smile on his face.

"You, my dear girl, look good enough to eat!" he said with a cheesy wink. "What do you say, care to join me for a bite after we are off tonight?"

You were searching through your mind for a gentle way to turn him down when suddenly a large, imposing body was looming over you from behind.

"I'm terribly sorry, Greg," Tom said, not sounding sorry in the slightest, "but the lady has other plans for the evening."

"Ah, I see," Gregory looked from one of you to the other, as if something was dawning on him for the first time. "Well, sorry to have intruded."

"It's no intrusion, honestly," you babbled. "I just... um, I'm just busy."

"I understand," he winked at you again and moved off to the food table, chuckling good naturedly.

As you turned to look at a murderous Tom, he grabbed your slim wrist in one of his mammoth hands, easily encircling it in a vice like grip.

"Tom, what the -"

"Hush. Come," he commanded brusquely and began pulling you out of the room.

By the time you reached his trailer you were panting from keeping up with him. His legs were nearly twice the length of yours and he had made no allowance in his strides for your short stature. He was silent the whole way, ignoring your breathless questions as he half dragged you to the long white vehicle where he prepared himself for the day.

As soon as he had shut the door behind you, Tom turned to you and grabbed you by both of your upper arms, shaking you slightly. His grip was hard enough to leave bruising, and his eyes looked like they would like to burst out in blue flames and scorch you.

"You," he told you through clenched teeth, "are NOT going to start dating Gregory, do I make myself clear?"

"You really don't have any say in who I date, Tom," you heard yourself answer. "After all, you can barely stand to look at me. Why should it bother you?"

"You are not stupid," he ground out. "You know damn well why it bothers me."

"Really?" you taunted. "It's not as if you want to date me."

"What I want to do to you," he said hotly, eyes raking over your body in a way that made you shiver, "goes far beyond dating. Do not tempt me like that, darling. I do not have infinite patience."

"What if I want to tempt you?" you asked in a quiet, breathy voice.

Tom's eyes widened perceptively, and strayed towards your mouth. You saw his pupils expand in a way that left little doubt in what he was thinking, and when your eyes drifted down you had your suspicions confirmed by how the skin tight breaches he wore strained in alarming fashion. 

You had expected, hoped even, for Tom to become wild. That was what you remembered of him. To grab you and throw you to the bed, perhaps, or push you up against the wall and lift you onto him. Instead, he stood back from you and carefully loosened his cravat.

"Lie down on the bed," he told you, voice low and firm and sending a wave of moisture down to your center.

Slowly, you moved over to the narrow cot against one wall and lowered yourself onto it, eyes never leaving his heated stare.

"Put your hands above your head and leave them there," he ordered, taking in your body spread out on his bed.

Swallowing hard you moved to obey his command. When your hands were lying on the bed above your head, a vulpine smile spread across his face as he stalked towards you. Working the buttons of his waistcoat free, he showed no rush to touch you, just admiring the view as you waited for what he would do next.

"Do you have any idea," he said, one hand finally coming to rest on your ankle, "how many times I have imagined this? Imagined having you back, in my room, subject to my desires?"

"You have?" you asked fatuously.

"So very, very many times," he purred darkly, running his hand up and down your calf. "I have thought of making you beg. Beg for me to take you back the way I begged all of those years ago. To make you want me even half as much, even a quarter, as I wanted you."

"I do," you said breathily. "I do want you. Tom, I want you so much."

"You don't get to talk now," he growled, and you pressed your lips together. "I have things to say to you. I have spent the last fifteen years of my life trying to forget the one woman who I ever loved. My sisters, they tease me ruthlessly over the fact that none of my relationships last long. They call it the three month rule. Do you know why they don't?"

Not daring to speak again, you shook your head and tried to hide the reaction his hand sliding ever farther up your leg was having on you.

"Because by that time, I am inevitably sure that they will never, _never_ compare to you. Ironic, considering I didn't even have that long with you. At least I am courteous enough to give them a chance to change my mind. You didn't even give me that."

"Tom," you began, then snapped your jaw shut.

"I loved you," he told you, voice raw and full of a tight pain. "God help me, I loved you, and you didn't feel the same."

"NO!" you could not be silent in the face of that misconception. "No, Tom, that's not true! I did love you! I still do! I wanted to say it that night, but if I did I knew you would never leave!"

"And would that have been such a bad thing?" his voice sounded younger in those words, no longer the self confident, in control movie star, but the eager boy who's pride you had wounded along with his heart.

"You were destined to be a star, Tom" you tried to explain. "I knew it. I could see it even then. But you know how you are! All or nothing. There is no half way with you. If you committed to me, we would have been married in a year. And no, before you ask, that wouldn't have been bad. At least not at first. God, you make me feel things no one else has before or since! But think, love. How would you have felt, years down the line, when your saw your friends and classmates' careers soar? When you had passed on opportunities that took you on tours around the world, or filmed in far off locations. You would have lost out on so many opportunities because of me. Tell me you wouldn't have grown to resent me."

You saw him hesitate, eyes downcast as he considered what you said. He had always been one to look for the truth in words and ideas, and you knew that he was weighing your explanation, sifting through the years of pain and loss for the reality of it all.

"Maybe you're right," he said at last with a sigh. "Maybe I would have become that way. I still should have had some say in it. It was my life as well."

"You're right," you said, tears welling in your eyes. "I handled it badly. I knew you, knew how you would react. I should have talked it through with you. But I was weak. I knew if we discussed it you would convince me to give it a try. You are so good, my love, of convincing me of things."

"Am I?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye that you had missed more than words could express.

"You know you are," you smiled, blinking the salt water from your eyes.

Tom sat down on the edge of the cot and ran his thumb under your eye, catching your tears. You reached up to him, twining your arms around his neck, and moved to kiss him, but he pulled away from you.

"I believe I told you to leave your hands above your head," he told you, voice stern once more, but with a note of playfulness that you had not heard before.

Docily, you laid back down and lifted your hands back above your head, wondering what he had in store for you.

"Good girl," he hummed, hand coming down to run the length of your body, making you gasp and arch up off the bed.

"I have missed this," he told you, cupping your breast through your light dress. "Missed the way you felt in my hand. I didn't always take the time to savor it properly when we were together. I think I need to rectify that."

With a wicked grin, Tom leaned down and sucked on your breast through the thin cotton fabric, causing your nipple to pucker. He gave a grunt of satisfaction, and then gently moved to the other side and pulled down the dress and the bra in one efficient move.

"Did I ever tell you that you have the perfect breasts?" he asked as he took it in his hand, rolling your nipple. "Firm and soft all at once. And so responsive. I have looked and looked, but I have never found another set so perfect."

You chose to ignore his deliberate provocation - looked and looked indeed! - as he lowered his mouth and applied his skillful tongue to your eager flesh. His hand, roaming as he suckled, found the hem of your dress and began guiding it upward, tickling your inner thighs as he went. You moaned and gasped shamelessly as he teased you. He seemed to be in no hurry, taking his sweet time in rediscovering the curves and valleys of your body. You longed to do the same, but didn't dare move your hands for when he wanted them, afraid he would stop what he was doing if you did.

"Tom," you said with a whine. 

"Yes darling," he smiled at you sensually.

"I want to touch you," you told him, biting your lower lip.

"Too bad," he shrugged, hand trailing back down your other leg.

"What? But it's been so long!" your voice sounded desperate to your own ears.

"And who's fault is that?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "Consider this your punishment for all that time wasted."

If it was punishment, it was sweet pain. Never rushing but rather drawing out each moment, Tom gradually devested you of your dress, bra soon following. As you lay there in only your panties, lace ones unlike your first night together, he explored all up and down your body with his mouth and hands. He stayed steadfastly away from the place you most craved him, kissing your thigh, running his tongue around your navel, but never breaching the thin lace barrier that kept him from your core.

"Tom please," you began begging, feeling like you were going to explode if he didn't speed things along. 

"Please what?" he murmured, sucking on the place under your ear that made your toes curl.

"Please, take me," you said on a shattered breath.

"Not yet," he smiled. "One thing at a time."

With that he stood and pulled his billowy cotton shirt off over his head. Your eyes feasted on the new and improved figure in front of you. My, he had been keeping fit in the time since you had been together. Muscles that had been lightly drawn back then were now prominent, from his rounded pecs to the washboard abs and the enticing vee that led down into his straining breeches. After a moment of indecision he removed the pants as well. Some things didn't change it seemed, and he still eschewed underwear. His beautiful cock, large and almost purple with want stood tall and proud against his hard stomach, making your mouth water as you took in the sight.

"I take it you are not disappointed?" he asked, smirk clear in his words.

You answered with a purely nonverbal noise that made his smile spread as he came back to the bed. Still not removing your undies, he lay down half beside, half on top of you and slid his body sinuously along yours, groaning at the feeling. You were whimpering now, wanting so desperately for the hard length sliding against your leg to slide inside your pussy. You rocked your hips back and forth off the bed, squeezing your legs together in hopes of some simulation of what you desired.

"Desperate girl," he grinned at you. "Are you sure you want this? Want me?"

"Yes," you panted, eyes just as desperate as he called you.

"I warn you, darling, if we do this now you are never getting rid of me. You can run as far as you like, I will hunt you down and win you back."

"Never," you swore, shaking your head. "Never again, Tom. I'm yours."

"Then touch me, love," he groaned.

With a cry of pure joy you brought your arms down and threw them around him, frantically running your hands all over his body. He felt so good, like water after years in the desert. You wanted to learn every last change in him, and to find all the beloved things that were still the same. The indent above his hip where he was ticklish, the way he gasped when your hand ghosted over his thigh, and the way his cock leapt as you held it, responding to your touch. It gave you a surge of power to feel this man, this beautiful, amazing man, react so undeniably to your caresses.

As you kissed over his jaw and down his neck, Tom reached down at last and, not bothering to pull them down, ripped your lace panties off your body. With gentle but insistent hands he separated your thighs, laughing at how eagerly you spread them for him, and ran his fingers over your lips.

"God, you get so wet," he grunted. 

"Only for you," you answered truthfully.

"Damn right," he replied, inserting a finger into you and watching you shudder. "You are mine, darling. Get used to that fact."

"Okay," you agreed quickly, making him laugh again.

"I want to keep torturing you," he sighed, settling himself between your legs and letting you feel his delicious weight on you, "but I'm afraid I've reached the end of my own endurance. And we are going to be needed back on set eventually."

"Please," you begged once more.

"Darling, I know things are different now. I have a condom if you want me to use it, but I promise I have been tested - the day after I saw you again, if you must know - and I would dearly love to feel you around me. May I?"

Damn, but he was always so polite, so considerate. You loved this man with everything you were.

"Yes, love," you urged. "Yes, please Tom."

And with a moan of delight he buried himself deep within you. As he held there for a moment, looking into your eyes, you felt more at home than you had in over a decade. You were with the man you loved. You were whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this! I am planning an epilogue to tie things up, so stayed tuned! I have really enjoyed writing this one and reading all of your comments!!!


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little epilogue to complete the story.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you know my first guest as Loki the God of Mischief and The Night Manager. His new movie, In The Timing, is currently nominated for a slew of awards, including the Oscar for Best Picture. Please welcome back to the show Mr. Tom Hiddleston."

You smiled as Tom jogged out onto stage to thunderous applause. Or maybe "thunderous" wasn't quite right. Thunderous implied deep, and the cheers for your man were much higher in pitch, clearly spearheaded by all of the overeager women in the audience. You couldn't really blame them. In his monochromatic blue suit and leonine mane of hair, Tom was definitely scream worthy. Still, that didn't mean you wouldn't take great delight in teasing him about his status as heartthrob later.

The response to _In The Timing_ had been incredible, with glowing reviews and box office receipts that were much higher than expected for an independent romantic comedy. Now, with the studio making a push for it on the awards circuit even more people were coming out to see the movie that was your labor of love in more ways than one.

All of this was wonderful for you and Tom, as you were both receiving accolades and prizes for your disciplines, but it also meant an endless round of press junkets, talk show appearances, and gala screenings all around the world. Most of the weight of this, of course, centered on Tom's deliciously broad shoulders, but you had your own share of speaking engagements as well. To your amusement, he had insisted that the studio coordinate your schedules, so that you were promoting in the same city at all times. He had just gotten you back, he insisted. After seventeen years apart he was not going to spend one night separated from you if there was anything he could do about it.

You were only too happy to go along with this plan. The state of pure euphoria you had been coasting through your days in had come to a screeching halt the first time you were asked to get up onto a stage in front of a thousand people and answer questions about your process and the characters you had imagined. Only Tom, standing to one side of the stage like a proud and nervous papa watching his child win her first spelling bee had kept you grounded. Every time you started to falter, you would look over and see him practically speaking for you with his body language. It would make you giggle inside how earnestly he watched you, reacting to the questions with amusement or indignancy on your behalf. What did it matter, you realized, what anyone else thought of you, when the over grown ginger in the wings believed in you so completely.

That didn't mean, of course, that you would let him off the hook for the swooning fangirls. Someone had to keep his head from becoming too big to fit through the door.

"So, Tom," Colbert was saying as you focused on the interview, "I hear you've got a new picture out."

"I have," he answered with a smile, playing along with one of his favorite hosts. Between the Hank Williams duet and the Hamlet soliloquy, Colbert was right up Tom's alley.

"Yeah, I hear it's pretty dreamy. Or rather you are pretty dreamy in it."

"I don't know about that," Tom chuckled with humility, face going a bit red. "I don't know who would have told you such a thing."

"Oh, my female staff, my daughter, my wife..." Stephen deadpanned as the audience laughed. "What is it about this film that is so... I believe the word was "swoony"."

"Swooy? An excellent word. From the old English _geswogen_ , meaning "in a faint"" you rolled your eyes as Tom pontificated.

"If you say so," Stephen laughed.

"I would say that it's the waistcoats, Stephen," Tom said with an impish grin. "They are rather constraining, depriving the wearer of appropriate oxygen. Hence the swooning."

"I see. Interesting. Now, this is a romantic comedy. Normally those are not big Oscar bait movies. Oscars tends to go more for tradgedy or history... the feel good tropes.

"Exactly," Tom laughed along.

"So what is it about this movie that makes it so appealing to awards voters? Is it the waistcoats?"

"Maybe," Tom smiled. "Maybe it's the waistcoats."

He was so charming, you thought you could feel the adoration from crowd washing towards the stage. He would be on cloud nine tonight, you knew. Tom feeded off of the energy of a crowd in a visceral way. It wasn't ego, exactly, or at least not just. It was the validation of his hard work, and the knowledge that he had shared something with an audience that had touched them on a personal level, made them experience something as a communal group.

With a smug smile you wondered if he would be able to wait until you were back to your hotel tonight before sharing that excitement with you, or if you would have to find a closet or some other private room to slip into for half an hour or so. Over the last few months there had been a number of times when, sometimes for no other reason than a look you had thrown at him, Tom had siezed you by your wrist and dragged you to some semi-secluded spot to have his way with you. Hell, once or twice you had even been the one to push him into an alcove and reach for his zipper. Your relationship all those years ago had been marked by insatiability for eachother, and if anything the years apart had only added to the ferver to touch, taste, and fuck eachother senseless.

"Along with the costuming, which is brilliant - bless our wonderful costuming department - I think the thing that sets this movie apart is its writing," Tom was saying, throwing an adoring glance in your direction. "It really gets to the heart of what it means to be in love. How we, as human beings, with all our foibles and idiosycrosies can be our own worst enemies in the persuit of our heart's desire."

And seriously, how could you not love this man to distraction? 

"The course of true love never did run smooth," Colbert threw in.

"Exactly. Shakespeare said it best as usual. But do you know which character that was?"

"Helena, Midsummer Night's Dream," Stephen said uncertainly.

"Close, very close," your walking Shakespeare anthology smiled sugly. "Hermia. Act I, Scene 1 I believe."

"I'll take your word for it," Colbert surrendered to the master. "So, you're nominated for a slew of awards - a BAFTA, a SAG, an Oscar... is there anyone that you are really gunning for? It's the Oscar right?"

"Well, sort of," Tom hedged.

"What do you mean sort of?"

"I am enormously flattered to be nominated for all of them, of course, and so excited for the film to be recieving so much love. But the award I'm most excited for isn't an acting award for me, or even Best Picture. It's the Adapted Screenplay Award."

"And why would that be, Tom Hiddleston?"

"Well, as I mentioned before, the writing, particularly the dialogue, is truly the star of this picture."

"Uh-hu. No other reason?" the host prodded. "I know you're a private man when it comes to your relationships..."

"With reason, you have to keep a bit of life for yourself."

"Of course. So, what do you want to share with us Tom?"

"Well, it just so happens that the writer of this particular movie is someone very close to my heart," he smiled a dopey smile that made your stomach do filp-flops.

"How close exactly are we talking?" Stephen asked, also shooting you a look.

"Well, Stephen," Tom grinned, "it just so happens that this particular author, this beautiful, brilliant, compassionate woman, has recently become closer to me than people may realize."

"Really?" Stephen grinned back at him. "You know, it just so happens that I see her standing there in the wings. Shall we invite her out here?"

"Well..." Tom threw you a smile, eyes saying that he knew he would be in trouble later, "I really do think that she deserves to be the one sitting out here discussing the movie. She is the reason it is a success after all."

"What do you think ladies and gentlemen?" Stephen asked the audience as you glared at both of them. "Shall we bring her out?"

As a chorus of enthusiastic yeses assailed your ears, you vowed that you would make Tom pay for this later, possibly ususing the pair of fur lined cuffs he didn't think you knew he had purchased when you were strolling through the village the day before. Resigning yourself to your fate you sighed and nodded you head once to their entreating glances.

"Ladies and gentleman, she is the writer behind _In The Timing_ Victoria Thomas," you still were not used to hearing your pen name spoken out loud as often as it was, or responding to it. You were going to have to do something about that soon, you thought.

"That is her pen name, indeed," Tom said as you walked slowly out on stage, glad that you were dressed in a chic Calvin Klien dress that flattered your figure, "I hope you will all join me in welcoming the newly minted Mrs. Hiddleston!"

_It had been a complete suprise. You and Tom had been walking through Central Park, Bobby frisking around you as he chased invisable prey. Your fingers were linked together, and Tom had at least somewhat learned to shorten his long stride to make up for your significantly shorter legs. After a bit of wandering, you had made it to the Shakespear Garden near both Delacourt Theater and Belvedeare Castle, and Tom had pulled you down beside him on a stone bench._

_"This garden," he told you conversationally, "has every flower the is mentioned in Shakespeare's plays planted in it."_

_"That's so interesting," you teased, even though you did find it interesting, you loved to give him a hard time over his love of all things Shakespeare._

_"All of those flowers," he went on as though you hadn't spoken, "and not one of them is close to being as beautiful as you are."_

_"Tom," you sighed dreamily, snuggling against his chest. Honestly, how had you gotten so lucky?_

_"Darling," he said, a nervous tone creeping into his usually confident voice. "I wanted to ask you something."_

_"What's that?" you said lazily, enjoying the smell of his skin as he kissed the top of your head._

_"Would you look at me love?" he asked._

_You lifted yourself off of his chest to see an anxious expression to match his voice._

_"I know that we have not been back together for long," he began, hands figiting, "but I think you know how much I love you."_

_"I do," you smiled at him. "I love you too."_

_"And we have, if you think about it, known eachother for almost two decades."_

_"I suppose."_

_"Given that, and that I don't think I will survive parting from you again," detaching himself from you, Tom dropped down onto one knee and your mind went blank. "My darling love, will you marry me?"_

_You gaped at him in stunned disbeleif, unable to move or speak as the sun glinted off of his copper curls. As your eyes met his you saw a look of hope begin to shade into panic, and realized that you had not given him an answer. Just as you were wondering how mouths and tongues worked, Bobby barked loudly and jumped up onto the bench beside you, breaking the spell that you had been under. You burst out laughing, and after a moment so did Tom as Bobby licked at your face._

_"Upstaged by my own dog," he grumbled good naturedly, some of his confidence coming back as you were beaming at him. "_ B ut come, darling, ' what sayest thou then to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee _.'"_

_"I say yes," you smiled at him as he rose to spin you off your feet in a circle. "Of course yes, Tom!"_

_Two days later, in a quiet ceremony attended by just imediate family flown in secretly and his ever vigilant puplicist Luke, the two of you were married in the same spot by your fiesty dirctor Susie, who had obtained her liscense online for the occasion. It was peacful, and even if one or two persistant pedestrians had been able to snap a quick picture of you in your ice blue dress and Tom in a perfectly tailored Ralph Lauren suit, Luke had been able to keep any whisper of it out of the press. As gossip control went, it was a minor miracle._

"So, you two crazy kids tied the knot, huh?" Stephen asked as the crowd finally died down.

"Yes," Tom said quickly, looking a bit nervous. "Though as you may be able to tell by the expression on my beautiful bride's face, we hadn't made the announcement public yet."

"Oh that's okay," Colbert waved it off, "they won't tell, will you guys?"

The crowed laughed at the notion of it staying a secret after such a public announcement.

"Well, congratulations Tom, and to your lovely wife, my condolences."

"Oh, I think Tom's the one who's going to be needing condolences soon," you joked, and Tom gamely winced, though his eyes said he wasn't sure how much you were joking.

"So, why did you agree to marry such an obvious fixer upper?" Stephen asked you. "Couldn't you find anyone good looking?"

"It's a struggle, Stephen," you sighed and the audience laughed, as you had married, by your own reconning, the most handsome man on the planet. "But, well, I'm in love you see."

"Ah," he nodded sagely.

"Yup, I'm in love with Bobby, and the only way to get the dog was to say yes to the man."

"My evil plan worked, you see," Tom chimed in, laughing his endearing _ehehe_

"You used the dog to get the woman? That's next level planning!"

"Well you see, Stephen," Tom said, staring into your eyes with an intensity that made you forget you were on national TV, "I have been in love with this particular woman for seventeen years. And if it had taken adopting an entire three ring circus to finally get her to marry me, that was what I was going to do. Fortunately for our home, one adorable Spaniel was all it took."

"Seventeen years? Really?" Stephen looked back in forth between you, a wealth of unanswered questions in his eyes.

"Indeed. She led me quite a chase, but I wore her down in the end."

"I have a feeling there's a story here," the host said, in huge understatement, "but I'll wait until your next visit for that."

"I'm afraid that story is not suitible for television," Tom demured.

"Well, can you at least give any advice to the fans out there? Some help for the lovelorn?"

"Well, in the end," he said, giving it his usual deep thought, "all I can say is it's all in the timing."

"And that, my friends, is what we call a segue. You can catch the movie in theaters now."

Tom glanced over to you and winked with a cocky grin, and you thought of all the things that had gone between you, the years and passion and the love. You loved this man with everything you had. He might be insufferable, he might occasionally push you beyond your comfort level, but you knew in that moment and every moment that you were loved with a fierce, constant heart. It was the happy ending you had always dreamed of. And it was yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading. It has been a wonderful story to write.


End file.
